


Paint

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Paint, Explicit Sexual Content, John Gets Wise, M/M, Messy, PWP, Sexy Times, Sherlock Snoops, Sherlock is Sneaky, Shower Sex, Starry Night, fake case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock alleviates his boredom with his usual snooping in John's room when he finds something very unusual. He starts a game that he quickly loses control of when John catches on and plays back.</p><p>This story was inspired by ANNUNNAKI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock Gets Creative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ANNUNNAKI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANNUNNAKI/gifts).



> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of over 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. We post twice a month. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

Sherlock was bored. He'd been bored for a day and a half now, though it felt like longer. In fact, it felt like a lifetime. As a result of said boredom, he had been quite unpleasant to John last night and he might just be willing to admit again this morning as well. But really, Sherlock thought now as he sipped his fourth cup of tea, John did kind of deserve it.

Because of his relentlessly optimistic attitude. How many times could Sherlock hear "Something will turn up" before he was allowed to just punch those words right out of John's mouth? Sherlock smiled a little. Of course, he'd never hit John but the image of a cartoon John Watson being hit and then the words flying up in speech bubbles from his mouth seemed quite funny to Sherlock at the moment. Which really only served as further evidence that boredom was no good for Sherlock Holmes. It turned him stupid. He finished his tea and stood up. There must be something in this flat that would distract him for the rest of the afternoon. He headed up to John's room.

He tapped softly on the wood and said, "John?" Which was also stupid because Sherlock knew John wasn't in there -- he'd watched him head off to work a few hours ago. By knocking, though, Sherlock could officially say he'd asked permission to enter John's space -- it wasn't his fault that John didn't answer in a timely manner. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He looked around the room for anything new. Obviously he'd already gone through everything in there -- he did it the second day John moved in and was surprised when John had caught him and didn't seem too bothered, saying he'd expected Sherlock to do it. This had taken the shine off the snooping a little bit, but Sherlock had finished anyway and found nothing at all embarrassing except some apparently much loved masturbatory aids, which at the time probably embarrassed him more than they'd embarrassed John anyway.

Nothing looked much different really, which shouldn't have surprised Sherlock as by now he was well aware that John was a creature of habit. He pulled open the top drawer next to John's bed. A few books, receipts, and coins were inside. He checked the bottom drawer and saw John's condom box, lube and tissues, though he did note that the brand on the bottle was different. He looked closely at it -- flavoured? Hmmm...John must be branching out his tastes a bit. Unusual but not really all that interesting. He slid his hand under John's mattress and grabbed the magazines underneath, pulling them out to inspect. It was quite cute somehow that John still kept pornographic magazines under his mattress like a schoolboy. He had access to every fetish one could imagine on the internet, but no, John Watson looked at old porno mags.

Sherlock climbed up on the bed and flipped through them. They appeared to be the exact same issues that had been there during his first search: he recognised one woman's unusual pose and knew there's no way he could have possibly seen that anywhere else before. Inside the magazine on the bottom, though, was a smaller magazine whose cover looked a bit artistic. Perhaps a pamphlet from some pretentious art show John had gone to with some pretentious woman he was trying to impress? Sherlock opened the cover. 

No, this wasn't an art show pamphlet at all. This was definitely intriguing.

It was full of photographs of nude men (artistically taken at least, Sherlock noted) and these men were doing some pretty interesting things to each other. And they weren't exactly nude. Well, they were, but their bodies were totally covered in paint. Some were painted to look like they had clothes on -- one pair was painted as rugby players and were clearly enjoying a two-man scrum -- but others were painted more abstractly. Others appeared to be homages to famous pieces of art: one man with the statue of David painted on his back was fucking another guy with the Mona Lisa painted on his. Sherlock imagined that he would find that quite off putting if he'd been the David guy -- her cold stare and slight smirk staring up at him. Then he realised he'd gone a bit distracted from the real issue here which was why John "I'm-not-gay" Watson had added man-on-man to his wank collection. Sherlock slid the other magazines back under the mattress and took the gay one down to his desk. He spent an hour researching online, returned the magazine to its hiding place, showered and got dressed. Then he took his shopping list and headed out of the flat.

John was half listening to the problems of the woman in front of him. Half an hour ago they stopped being medical problems, and they had now become personal problems that he didn't really care about. She had complained about her inhaler not helping her asthma, and a quick test proved she was spraying it in the air around her instead of using it properly. That should have been the end of this tedious appointment, but now she was going on and on about her husband not helping her enough, and how maybe her asthma wouldn't even be so bad if he hoovered or did the washing up once in a while.

John let his mind drift away from the conversation. He thought instead about the new little magazine he had hidden in his room. Knowing that Sherlock was prone to snooping, John had hidden it inside his usual stash of porn, hoping Sherlock would just move right along when he saw the old magazines there. He quite liked the photographs in the new one. He had first seen something like it online -- he'd thought it was a photograph of a parrot but, when he looked closer, it was actually a woman painted very expertly. He explored the genre and quickly found he preferred the painted men. There was something erotic about being covered and exposed at the same time -- an illusion of privacy that actually left everything open to the viewers.

He wanted to try it, but it would be difficult to bring up. You didn't just ask a new partner to paint your body. Or to paint theirs. And lately John hadn't been with anyone long enough to start making suggestions like that. In fact he hadn't even been on a date in a while. Maybe this weekend he would go out to the pub or maybe there was a place people interested in body painting met. He could look online.

"Dr Watson! Are you listening?"

John snapped back into reality and nodded. "Yes, of course. Your asthma is only going to get better when you start using your inhaler properly," he said, starting to usher her out.

"But I was telling you about my dog's new outfit!" she huffed as he half pushed her into the lobby.

"Yes, of course," he said, calling in the next patient before she could try to get a conversation going again.

The rest of the day went similarly. He had boring case after boring patient, and he was counting the minutes until he could finally go home. He hurried out without doing his paperwork, deciding he could worry about that when he came in tomorrow. He picked up dinner on the way home, serving his own as soon as he walked in. He was starving.

"Sherlock? Are you hungry?" he called.

Sherlock was in his room. He heard John come in. He sat silently, counting to one hundred. Then he got up and walked out. "Do you always have to shout?" he said grumpily. "I was concentrating and you put me right off." He moved to the kettle and put in on, setting his mug down in a particularly grumpy way.

John rolled his eyes. "If you're still in the same mood from this morning, I am leaving," John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes back at John. "Will you let it go? We've got bigger things to think about," he said.

"If you say your tea isn't made, I'm leaving for three days," John said.

"John," Sherlock said sharply. "We've got a case -- I've been working all day and I've hit a wall because I needed you -- my so-called colleague -- who wasn't here and who has now come in, mumbling about meaningless things." He took a sip of tea.

John took a deep breath. "Calm down, Sherlock. I'm here now. Tell me about the case."

"Someone's gone missing -- some artist," Sherlock said. "It looks like he might have been kidnapped by a rival before some upcoming competition. I don't know if he's killed him. Yet. But if you'd rather discuss the disagreement this morning first, we can hold off on working to try to save a man's life."

"Okay, let's not be dramatic. What do you need me for? Have you started researching?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. "Unlike some, I was working all day. Obviously, I'm going to have to enter that competition to try to get a link to the suspect. That's what I need you for."

"What competition? You're going to do a painting?" 

"Of course," Sherlock said again, looking over at him. "I don't know why you're so shocked. I'm a very creative person. I have an A-level in art."

"Right. I'm not going out again for supplies, so you'll just have to wait until tomorrow."

"I've got the supplies," Sherlock said. "I just need a canvas."

"Well, you should have thought of that when you were out," John said. He got up and started waking his plate. 

"Well . . . no, see, the type I need is not the kind of thing one can purchase," Sherlock said. 

John looked over his shoulder at Sherlock. "What does that mean?"

"It's body painting," Sherlock said. "You have a body, I need to paint it." 

It was pure chance that John had set the plate down before Sherlock spoke, so it wasn't dropped when he registered the words. "Excuse me?" he asked, as if the whole concept was completely new to him. 

"It's an art, John," Sherlock said. "Don't be so snobbish. Luckily, my talents will adapt quite well, but it's something I can't do to myself obviously."

"I...you're not painting me. Hire a model or something!" John turned to finish cleaning up. 

"Well, now, John, you're well aware that that won't work," Sherlock said. "Let's be honest -- I have been known to be difficult around other human beings . . . you, on the other hand, have hardened to my social inadequacies and thus are the perfect candidate."

"Then I'll watch and keep you in check," John offered. He didn't like Sherlock using words like 'hardened' when talking about having his body painted. What were the chances this was happening now? He eyed Sherlock suspiciously as he put the leftovers away. 

"Obviously you'll be watching," Sherlock said. "Unless you see some need for a blindfold? In fact, I'd prefer you keep your eyes open -- I'll need feedback if I'm going to get to competition level within a week."

"You're not painting me! I'll watch you paint the model so you'll behave," he said. He moved into the sitting room. "I'm not...we're not doing this."

"John," Sherlock said, moving into the other room and sitting down. "I think we both know this is going to happen so we can do the normal back-and-forth until you eventually agree or you can just agree right now and we can get started immediately."

"I'm not here to be your experiment! Why do you always do this to me?" John sighed.

"This is not an experiment," Sherlock said. "It's a case. It's our business, John, our income. If you want me to turn it down -- despite the fact that I've already put a long day's work in -- fine. Just say it. Say it aloud, 'I know solving cases is your life, Sherlock, but I refuse to help you' and I'll call the client and say no."

"That's not...I'm not telling you not to work, Sherlock. I just...why does it always have to be me?" John knew he was going to say yes. Of course he was. He put up a fight in the hopes that Sherlock would, one day, actually listen to him. 

"Because it's always you, John," Sherlock said. "I mean, you're the only one who can put up with me. Which is why we work together so perfectly."

John looked up at him. "Don't try to guilt me. Let's just do it."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "Make us a cup of tea then and we can get started."

"You make the tea. I'm just a canvas," John said. 

"Fine," Sherlock said. He stood up and switched the kettle on. "Or do you want wine? It might help you relax -- I think it'll be easier if you're not as uptight as you usually are."

"I am not uptight! You...it's these damn ideas," he huffed. "Just...bring whatever is easier. What are you painting anyway?"

"Art obviously," Sherlock said, opening a bottle and pouring two glasses of wine. "I've got things set up in my room. I thought I'd try Starry Night on you first to refine my techniques before I go for an original composition."

"Right." John took the glass from Sherlock. "And if you don't get into the competition?"

"Ye little of faith, John Watson," Sherlock said. "A-level art, don't forget." He winked and made his way into his bedroom.


	2. Starry Night

John took a gulp of wine and looked at all the paint. "Is it toxic?"

"Yes, it'll kill you if you've got it on for more than five minutes," Sherlock said sarcastically. "I've already said we'll need do this multiple times . . . why would I kill you on the first go?" He messed about with some of the paints. "Get your shirt off, please," he said in an official voice.

"How far...I mean, how much of me are you painting?"

"Take your shirt off," Sherlock said again. "My initial idea was to do your back, but actually I think I should probably do your chest instead -- it'll be easier for you to see so you can tell me how I'm doing."

John took his shirt off and tossed it onto Sherlock's bed. "I'll be sure to be extra truthful," he said. 

"You're going to be beautiful and then you'll be sorry for your attitude," Sherlock said. "Sit down and get comfortable."

John rolled his eyes lightly and sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed. He couldn't believe this was happening. He realised he was going to have to keep control of himself -- the last thing he needed was to get an erection while Sherlock was painting him. He'd wanted to try it, but this wasn't what he'd been imagining. Maybe he wouldn't like it after all.

Sherlock looked at a picture of the painting and then at John's chest, which was quite muscular and not unappealing to his eyes, though he was sure that was more to do with the fact that John was his only friend and thus was naturally more appealing than any other person. He put some blue paint on the brush and began dabbing it onto the area under John's collarbone. It went on quite smoothly. "Let me know if you start to feel itchy or hot," he said, focusing on watching the paint spread on John's skin. "I'd rather you spoke up than have my canvas die from some allergic reaction."

"I'm fine," John said, looking down. The paint was cool and felt nice on his skin. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, before realising John hadn't asked a question. The paint spread quite easily on John's warm skin and the colour was sharp. He took longer strokes, dipping his brush in more blue, moving lengthwise before turning it to match VanGogh's swirls. Once the base colour was done, he turned and fiddled with the gold and white paints before glancing back. "Are you cold?" he asked.

John shook his head. "No." He kept his gaze on his own chest and didn't look at Sherlock. "Will the paint melt?"

"No," Sherlock said. "It'll be fine." He leaned over and blew lightly over John's chest, dwelling just a bit too long over one of John's nipples. "I don't want to put the lighter colours on until this layer's dry," he explained. 

John shivered and just barely held back a sound. "I see," he murmured. 

Sherlock dipped the brush in gold and went straight to John's left nipple, swirling the paint around its hard tip. "You sure you're not cold?" Sherlock said. "Your body seems to be telling me it's cold."

"I'm not -- can we take a break?" John asked. He couldn't control his whole body, it was impossible. 

"I'm afraid not, but you can lean back if you're getting stiff," Sherlock said. It took everything within him not to smile wickedly at the little game he was playing. Instead he said, "I'm sorry, John, if I'm making you uncomfortable in any way. I admit this is a little unusual, but that's really what our partnership has always been about, hasn't it? Unusual situations to try to solve puzzles? You've always been helpful and I do appreciate this help today." He finished dabbing white across John's upper chest and then turned back to the paints to get the black.

John stayed sitting up so that his jeans, bunching just right, could hide the effect this was having on his body. He definitely liked this more than he realised and there was no way he could let Sherlock know that. "Just...hurry up, please. The drying paint is pulling." 

"You can't rush art, John," Sherlock said. "Here, have another drink but keep your arms up while you do it." He handed John the wine glass and then got back to work. Eventually he said, "I'm sorry. You are going to have to lean back a bit -- I need to finish off the buildings and I can't contort myself enough to get your lower stomach. Then you'll be comfortable and I can do the final touches and take a picture and then you can wash all my beautiful art away, all right?"

"You have to take a picture?" John asked, leaning back while trying to avoid actually lying down flat. 

"Well, no, I don't have to take a picture -- not of this one," Sherlock said, painting the buildings' outlines on John's abdomen. "But I'd like to -- to see what I did right and where I need to improve. I'd like to be able to look at it. Why do you care? I won't show anyone else and besides, you've got your trousers on, it's not like it's a nude one . . . yet." He held back another smile.

"Yet? There's no 'yet', Sherlock. This is the only canvas you're getting, and I am not listening to anything else about that," John said. 

"All right, John, whatever you say," Sherlock said in that way they both knew meant John would end up doing whatever Sherlock wanted. "Hold still, please, I won't be too much longer." He leaned down, squinting over the paintbrush tip which was painting John's navel.

John's belly squirmed. "I'm not getting naked," he huffed softly. 

"That's fine, John," Sherlock said, exhaling softly over his skin. "Whatever you want . . ." He stood up and looked down at John. "All right, just stay there for a few moments. I'll go get the camera," he said, dropping the paintbrush down onto the table. "You can sit up a bit and finish your wine if you want," he added and then left the room.

John stayed in his back and waited. In the silence he got control over his thoughts, still unable to believe this was happening today, right after he'd been thinking about the magazine. It was just too convenient. He needed more information on this so called case. 

Sherlock came back carrying the camera and the bottle of wine. He topped up John's glass. "Okay," he said. "Let me look at you." He stared down at John's torso. The painting was not great -- it was definitely recognisable as Starry Night but looked a bit like it'd be done by a near-sighted twelve-year-old. That, of course, didn't really matter. "Just let me touch up a few spots," he said, sitting down next to John on the bed.

John sighed, trying not to move too much. "So, what's this case again?"

"An artist got murdered," Sherlock said, leaning over to tap the paintbrush on John's skin. He let his pinky finger brush against John's nipple, before worrying that that was too much, so he moved to tickle the bristles against John's side. "We'll go to the competition and suss out who did it, nice and simple."

John arched up, just enough to pass it off as shifting to get comfortable. "I thought you said someone was missing?" 

"He is, I mean, I did, he's missing -- possibly kidnapped, maybe murdered, I don't know yet, John, do I?" Sherlock rambled. "That's why it was so urgent to get started . . ." His voice trailed off as he sat back to look at John. "There," he said. "Get up and go look in the mirror. Tell me that's not good for a first go."

John furrowed his brow. "It's not like you to be unclear on the details," he said. He stood carefully and went to the mirror, unable to help a burst of laughter. "Oh God..."

"That's hurtful, John," Sherlock said. "If you hadn't been wiggling about and distracting me, it'd be better. Tomorrow I'll be better." He finished off his glass of wine as he stood and watched John looking at himself.

"Tomorrow?" John asked, turning around.

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "Clearly I need to improve so we can blend in at the competition. This evening wasn't bad, was it? Unless there's some other reason you're unwilling to continue to help, we'll try again tomorrow."

"No, just...I wasn't expecting it," John said. 

"Well, pay better attention when I'm explaining things, John," Sherlock said. "I suppose you're going to go wash away all my hard work now, are you?" he asked.

"Yes," John said. "I'm not staying like this."

"Naturally," Sherlock said. He lay down his bed and looked over at John. "Be sure to get it all off -- I'll need a clean canvas for tomorrow."

John rolled his eyes. "If I let you," he said.

"You will," Sherlock called as John headed out of the room. He lay back on the bed, smiling to himself, as he finished John's wine as well.

John shut himself the bathroom and leaned against the door with a heavy sigh. He reached down and palmed his cock. He would have to be more prepared tomorrow so this didn't happen again. He stripped and looked at the painting again before climbing into the tub. It wasn't actually awful. Maybe he should tell Sherlock that when he got out. He stood under the water and let the colors run together. He thought about the light brush strokes, the harder movements, Sherlock's accidental touches and his soft breath.... He reached down and stroked himself properly. He imagined being painted again tomorrow, even imagined Sherlock helping him clean it off. He gasped softly and stroked faster. He imagined edible paint, and again Sherlock cleaning him off. He moaned softly and came, panting softly as he leaned on the wall. Not good. He'd definitely have to maintain better control tomorrow.

Sherlock lay there for a while, feeling quite smug with himself over his accomplishment until he realised he wasn't quite sure what he'd actually accomplished. He'd fooled John, true, but he'd certainly done that before. The whole evening had been poking fun at John's little fetish, but John didn't realise Sherlock had been teasing so what was the point of that? John's behaviour was pretty much as it always was -- not initially keen but reluctantly agreeing to go along with whatever Sherlock wanted. John always did that, because John was a good colleague and a good friend. Whose goodness had totally ruined whatever fun Sherlock had been hoping this night would be. He sat up grumpily and grabbed the wine glasses and bottle, taking them to the kitchen, before tidying up all the paints. This had been a bit of a stupid idea really. Boredom was no good for Sherlock Holmes. It turned him stupid.

When John got out of the shower he dried off, double checked to make sure he hadn't missed any paint, and then wrapped the towel around his waist to go up to his room. He changed into pajamas and came back down to the sitting room, opening his computer. "Do you have tea made?"

"No," Sherlock said sharply. "I've been cleaning up. I can't do everything, you know." He put the kettle on and got out two cups. "Did you have any trouble getting the paint off?"

"Don't shout. I was only asking," John said. "Yeah, just a bit, but I think I got it."

"Do you need me to double check you or are you all right? I can't guarantee it won't stain your sheets," Sherlock said, softening his voice a little. He really needed to work on not punishing John whenever he got bored.

"I think you've done enough," John smiled.

"Well, I offered," Sherlock said. "I think I might have an early night -- being an artist is really quite exhausting." He took his mug and headed to his room calling good night, before shutting his door.

John watched him go, a bit disappointed as he collected his things and went back up to his room. 

Sherlock got into bed and checked his email while he finished his tea. No new cases, which meant more boredom tomorrow. The little body painting scheme had kept him busy enough tonight, but tomorrow he'd have to chase down Lestrade to give him something to work on. Perhaps he really should get an early night, he thought, as he turned off his lamp and rolled over in bed.

The bed smelled a bit of the body paint or perhaps the scent still clung to his fingertips. He imagined John lying where he was now. He actually looked quite good, all painted like that. He looked quite sexy really, much sexier than those men in his secret magazine. Sherlock wondered if he should tell John that, but couldn't quite picture how he'd be able to work that into a conversation without John getting angry about Sherlock's snooping or seeing the comment as mocking, which it really wasn't at all. John was quite sexy -- Sherlock hadn't really thought about it before, but he was thinking about it now.

John answered a few comments on the blog while he finished his tea before shutting everything off and laying down to sleep. He reminded himself that he had masturbated to thoughts of Sherlock, and then he promptly ordered himself to forget all of that. But his brain held tight. This case still seemed suspiciously timed. He'd had the magazine for several weeks. He'd only been thinking about it today.

He sat up. It just wasn't right. John lifted the mattress and took out his magazines. He flipped through and found the painting one -- upside down. He knew it. There was no case. Sherlock had snooped and, out of curiosity or out of some experiment to embarrass John, he'd designed one of his little schemes.

Two could play at this game. He put everything away and got back into bed. Tomorrow he would get the upper hand and expose Sherlock's little game, and his snooping as well. He shifted and closed his eyes, sleep coming much easier now that he had a plan.


	3. John Gets Creative

When Sherlock woke up in the morning, he had an erection which annoyed him. He hoped it wasn't going to be a metaphor for the day (a useless expenditure of energy with no chance of satisfaction). He ignored it until it went away and then got up to take a shower and get dressed.

John got up and dressed for work, already thinking about his plan for when he came home. He had considered doing something this morning but he wanted to take his time to watch Sherlock struggle with the idea and try to find a way out of it. He came down for breakfast, giving him a cheerful good morning.

"I don't know why you're so smiley," Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea and looked over, smiling back a little.

John shrugged. "Must have had a good dream or something."

Sherlock felt a bit funny about that, like somehow John knew about the erection he'd woken up with. "Well, don't you have work to go to or something?"

"In a bit. I want breakfast first," he said, popping in some toast.

"Fine, well, some of us can't lounge around eating," Sherlock said. He moved over to his desk and began searching for a case.

John ate over the sink before putting his tea in a travel mug. "See you later," he called before leaving.

Sherlock called back as John left and got up to watch him through the window. He topped up his tea and set down to work. There was nothing of interest in his email -- well, one query but he could tell right away it wasn't going to go anywhere -- and no new comments on the blog. There had been last night, but John answered them. He always seemed to jump in there before Sherlock got a chance and Sherlock knew exactly why -- John had scolded him too many times for his 'condescending attitude'. John appeared completely unaware that this scolding was in and of itself quite 'condescending' towards Sherlock, but Sherlock never pointed that out because he was obviously just a better person than John was. Except sometimes he had pointed it out, because a man can only take so much. Actually, maybe John should leave commenting to Sherlock from now on, because it didn't seem like that blog had generated much business recently. Or maybe it had -- suddenly Sherlock realised his eyes had gone a bit blurry staring at the page, but more importantly his head had gone a bit blurry as well. Why was his mind running off on such tangents? Boredom.

He next got in touch with Lestrade, which was again a much more complicated process than it needed to be, especially when it turned out there was nothing for Sherlock to work on. He got himself one more cup of tea and then opened his phone, staring at his brother's contact details. No. He wasn't that bad yet. Instead, he got up and, despite showering a few hours ago, decided to take a long bath. When he got out, he glanced at the clock and realised pretty much the whole day was gone and he really had nothing to show for it.

John saw the same type of patients as the day before -- boring cases, minor complaints, and idiots just trying to get out of work for the day. He spent a lot of time on paperwork, finishing what he'd left for himself as well as the new files from today. He worked through lunch and was starving when it was time to go home. He picked up dinner and headed to the flat, remembering his plan suddenly. After dinner, or maybe while they were eating, John was going to suggest the nude painting. Sherlock's face would be priceless. Even though he had talked about it first, his comments about wanting to do it again were surely just to embarrass John. Not tonight. Tonight it'd be Sherlock who was embarrassed. He called out when he walked in, opening his box of food and starting to eat right away. 

Sherlock came out, noticing John eating. "So you brought nothing for me?" he said grumpily before realising he was doing it again, being unfair to John just because he was bored. He decided to simply pretend he hadn't said it. "Do you want something to drink with that?" he asked.

"If you use your amazing powers of observation, you will see that your box is right here on the table," John said. Then his lifted his bottle of water to show he already had something to drink. 

"Right," Sherlock said. "Thanks." He sat down and fiddled with the food a bit. "Sorry for . . . you know, being how I am." He took a bite of food. "Was work okay?"

John looked up with a pang of...something. Guilt? Shame? He couldn't place it, but he didn't like it. Luckily Sherlock moved the conversation along and, after shaking it off, he nodded. "Good. Boring, but it was all right." He glanced over." I did have some time to think about your competition."

"I've got competition?" Sherlock asked, perking up a bit. "Is that why I'm not getting cases? Has Lestrade said something?"

John's brow furrowed. "You have a case. That's what I am talking about, Sherlock. The painting competition," he said. 

"Right," Sherlock said. He'd forgotten all about that. "Right," he said again though the minute it came out, he knew it was too revealing. He hoped John wouldn't be observant enough to notice. "Yeah, I've been working on that today -- more research, I mean. I'm not sure . . . it's not all that interesting actually. You didn't have a reaction to the paint, did you?" He looked up at John's eyes to see if they were red. Suddenly he felt quite guilty about messing around with John's secret.

"Oh no, I'm fine," John said. He took a couple more bites. "I was thinking...you were right. You need proper practice. Let's do the nude one after dinner."

"What? Why? I-I don't . . . I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable . . . it's not that important," Sherlock said, looking down at his food.

John held back a grin. "Of course it is! It's our work, Sherlock. You're right. I've been selfish," he said. He stood and started washing his plate. "Let's do it again so you have a better chance of catching this guy."

Sherlock glanced up a John who was smiling. He felt even more guilty. "I don't want to put you out," he said. 

"Oh please, you've never worried about that before. Now I want to. Let's do it." John turned to face Sherlock. 

Sherlock thought for a moment. He had kind of enjoyed teasing John last night, even if John didn't know. He'd also kind of enjoyed looking at John last night, which John didn't need to know. But he wasn't sure if this was taking advantage. "You're probably too tired," he said. "We can wait . . ."

"Oh no, I feel great. In fact, I'll even get hard for you, if you want to do a tower or something. Maybe you'll get extra points for 3D." John was trying not to laugh, hoping Sherlock didn't take it seriously. 

Sherlock coughed a little. What on earth was John doing? He didn't look up but thought about John's smile. Had this all been some kind of set up, to catch Sherlock's snooping? Was he just trying to embarrass Sherlock? Is that what he'd been trying to do to John last night? Whatever was going on, Sherlock couldn't deny it was quite intriguing.


	4. Art

"All right," Sherlock said. "If you're up for it." He did his best not to smile. "You want to have a shower or anything, while I set up the paints?" 

The hardest thing John ever did was hold back his surprise. "I showered before work...I will after to get the paint off," he said. He swallowed roughly. "Your room?"

Sherlock looked up at John who was still smiling, but in a slightly different way. "All right then," he said. "Maybe we should open some wine -- that seemed to help last night." He stood up and moved over to the cupboard and started pulling out the paints.

"Sure," John said. "Loosens inhibitions after all..."

This was really confusing Sherlock. What exactly was happening here? He felt a little awkward, not knowing what precisely John was doing but at the same time, he couldn't deny that he was starting to feel a bit warm inside and out. "Whatever you want . . ." he mumbled as he carried the paints into his room.

John couldn't help laughing softly as Sherlock hurried away. John grabbed the glasses and the wine before following him. 

Sherlock set the paints out on the little table near the bed. "What do you think I should paint -- a certain image or just something abstract?" he asked.

"Is the competition scene specific?" John asked as he poured the wine. 

"Um, no, just -- just an overall competition, I guess," Sherlock replied. "The blue looked good . . . I'll just start with that and see where it takes me." He sat down on the bed. "Do you want to just start with your shirt off? We can see what I come up with and then decide if it's necessary to keep going."

John took a sip of wine. "I don't mind taking everything off," he said. He wondered how far Sherlock would let this go.

"Um, I'm thinking shirt first, please," Sherlock said. He still wasn't quite sure what was happening, and exerting some control over the situation might help.

John took another sip of wine before unbuttoning his shirt. He did it deliberately slowly, peeling it off. "Should I sit?"

"I think so," Sherlock said. "Or maybe lie down?" He poured two glasses of wine and took a sip from one. He dipped the brush into the blue and turned to look at John. "Ready?"

John nodded, lying down flat on Sherlock's bed. He would pause his little game for now and start again after. Maybe he would let himself enjoy it properly. He wondered if that would be taking the game too far...Sherlock didn't know about that after all. Or maybe he did know John was turned on by it, given where he found the magazine. 

Sherlock let the brush hover for a moment and then began moving it in slow strokes across John's chest, eventually moving to slide into the dip above his collarbone. "What does it feel like? Nice?" Sherlock asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

John nodded. "It's soft and cool on my skin," he said. He was surprised to see his tone matched Sherlock's, lower than he expected. 

Sherlock turned and mixed a bit of green with the blue. He lengthened his strokes, covering all of John's pectorals. "Anything you feel like talking about?" he asked.

"Hmm?" John had heard the question but he was too focused on the smooth brush stroke to answer properly. He felt very warm.

"It's a Friday night," Sherlock said. "How come no date?"

"M'having one," John said. He lifted his head to sip more wine.

Sherlock smiled. "You're behaving quite oddly his evening," he said. He dripped the paintbrush into a purple colour and moved the paintbrush down to John's stomach.

John smiled as his belly squirmed. "You're painting my body," he pointed out. 

"Fair point," Sherlock said. "I admit that's a bit odd as well." He dipped his brush again and let a big drop fall into John's belly. "You know, when I was doing my research, I found that some people see this as a somewhat sexual activity." He spread the paint over John's navel.

"Oh? Where did you do this research?" John asked. 

"On websites," Sherlock said. "Do you know anything about that kind of business?"

"Hmm. You might have to show me these websites," he said. 

Sherlock was silent for a few moments. "Maybe you should put your arms up so I can do your sides," he suggested. He took a sip of wine as he waited to see if John would.

John lifted his arms over his head. "You've never seen this before this case?"

"What? Um, no, well, I don't think so . . . ," Sherlock said. "How about you?"

"Are you sure you haven't read about it somewhere?"

"No, John," Sherlock said. "I mean, I know about tattoos, but you know I don't know much about other things." He stopped painting and took another sip of wine. "Anyway, this is looking quite nice." He glanced down at John's body. "I don't really know what it is but it's . . . pretty, I guess."

"Do you need more room?" John asked, aware that his cock was slightly pressed into his pants.

"I certainly don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do," Sherlock said.

"Do it for me...I don't want to move my hands and mess anything up," he said, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He wondered if Sherlock would and what he would think when he saw John's state. 

Sherlock looked at John. Surely he was playing some kind of game -- did he really want to do this or was he just trying to test Sherlock? He set the paintbrush down and unbuttoned John's trousers. "Do you have an erection then?" he asked casually, even though he obviously already knew the answer.

"A bit," he murmured. "It feels good...the painting on me stuff..."

Sherlock let out a slow exhale. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked softly.

"No," John murmured softly. 

"Interesting," Sherlock said, unzipping and starting to pull his trousers down. "Lift up," he said.

John lifted his hips as best as he could without moving his arms.

Sherlock pulled off John's jeans and then his pants as well. He tried not to look directly at it, but he couldn't really look up at John's face either. He turned to fiddle with things at the table. "Should I put paint on it?" he said, trying to make his voice sound as natural as possible.

John bit his lip. They were really going to do this. "It's for the case, after all," he said, knowing he was only going to get harder if Sherlock did. 

"Right," Sherlock said. He dipped the brush into a violet shade and stared to paint across John's lower abdomen. "This is the first time we've had a conversation while you had an erection. I mean, I think it is -- perhaps you have them all the time, I don't know. I think I'll just treat it like a regular conversation, if you don't mind." The paint was a bit thicker here, as he struggled to maintain his focus on what he was doing.

John smiled softly. "I've had one before." He paused and thought about the next words he was thinking. "You've caused a couple of them before..."

"Have I?" Sherlock said. "You kept that quite quiet. I wonder what would have happened had you mentioned it . . ." His mind was racing a bit, trying to think about what John was saying and what might happen next.

"What might've happened? You're not into any of that," John said. "Even now...this is all just for a case -- all work and no play. I hope my cock isn't ruining it," he said, using that word on purpose. He wondered if he could make Sherlock flustered enough to stop all of this and admit the game he was playing. Or maybe...he didn't want to entertain the other possibility. It was too unlikely. 

Sherlock saw the challenge. He put the brush down and dipped his fingers into the paint, quickly turning back and wrapping his hand around John's cock. "This'll be more efficient, I think," he said, moving his hand up and down, spreading the paint.

John gasped softly, his fingers curling into the bedding. "Didn't know...they allowed finger painting," he managed, keeping his breathing steady. 

"Just trying to be practical," Sherlock said, glancing at his hand and then just making his vision a little blurry so he really wasn't looking at anything. "I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable…it doesn't appear to be having that effect . . ."

John shifted lightly, shaking his head. "It's our job," he said softly, repeating Sherlock's words. 

"Is it, John?" Sherlock asked, moving up onto his knees on the bed. "It isn't, though . . . this is something else." He leaned over a little so his face was close to John's body, but he still hadn't met John's eyes. "What is it, John? What is it we're doing?"

John kept his head turned to the side. "You lied to me," he murmured. "You were snooping..."

"Correct," Sherlock said without turning his head. He used his free hand to reach up and open his own trousers, sliding it inside to hold himself.

John glanced down at the new sounds, still not moving his head. "Don't tell me you're going to use that as a brush," he said. 

Sherlock ignored that. He let go of John and reached over his body to grab a pot of the paint. He poured some directly onto John's stomach, dragging his hand through it and down. He spread it over John's balls and between his legs. Then he sat up a bit, using both hands to push his own trousers down, not caring at all about the paint he was getting on his clothes. His clean hand went immediately back to his own cock and his other went to John's. He began stroking both.

"Fucking hell," John moaned, the cool paint making his whole body over heat. "Sherlock..." he turned his head and looked down, watched Sherlock's hands moving on the both of them. "There's no case, is there?" he asked breathlessly, even though he already knew the answer. 

"No, there's no case," Sherlock exhaled. "I don't know why . . . we can stop if you want. . . but I . . ." His hands kept moving.

John shook his head. "I don't want to stop," he moaned softly. 

"Do you want to come?" Sherlock asked. "I'm going to, John . . . I'm sorry . . ."

John nodded. "Lean down and kiss me," he moaned softly. 

"Kiss?" Sherlock asked. His brain was not working as it usually did. "Really?"

"Please?" John asked, biting his lips as his breathing got a bit more erratic.

Sherlock moved quickly, crawling over top of John. He grabbed both their cocks again, thrusting his hips for movement and then leaned down and kissed John's mouth sloppily.

John buried his hands in Sherlock's hair, kissing him back as they moved together. The heat built faster, coiling in his belly. He whined into Sherlock's mouth, so close.

"Fuck," Sherlock moaned, his hand and hips moving a bit wildly. "I can't --" he said and then suddenly he was coming, spraying over the paint on John's belly. "Fuck," he moaned again.

John stilled as he watched Sherlock's face. The few times he'd imagined it didn't do justice to the real thing. His pale cheeks flushed, eyes closed as his face slackened in pleasure. He was beautiful. As Sherlock kept moving over him, John reached his climax and let go, coming hard between them and moaning Sherlock's name. 

Sherlock lifted himself up and moved off of John, lying down beside him. He glanced down -- the paint on John was all smeared, and there was colour over Sherlock as well. "I don't know…" he exhaled as he tried to catch his breath. "That was a surprise . . ."

John nodded. "Might've taken...that game...a bit far," he panted softly. 

"I knew you were up to something . . ." Sherlock said, lifting his hand to wipe the sweat from his face, realising too late that he'd used the one covered in paint.

"Me? You're the one that was sneaking in my room again, trying to pull something slick by making up a case!" John turned to look at him and laughed loudly. 

"I lost control of this whole project long ago," Sherlock said. He sat up. "We're a mess . . . "

"I'm art, thank you very much."

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, good to meet you, Art," Sherlock said with a half smile. "I'm going to go shower." He stood up from the bed. "Try not to make more of a mess, please."

"I'm going to roll all over your sheets," John grinned.

Sherlock grabbed some pajamas and quickly jumped into the shower. He used the soap to rub the paint from his hands and then rest of his body. He decided to not really think about what had just happened, feeling almost a bit drunk for the whole thing. When he was clean, he dried off and got dressed. He went back to the bedroom and saw John, who had wrapped the messy sheet around him. "Your turn," he said and moved to gather up all the paint pots.

John held the sheet around himself as he went into the bathroom. He started the shower and stood under the water, watching the paint run off. He couldn't stop thinking about what they had done. What did it mean for them now? Perhaps it was just a one time thing -- both of them just got a bit carried away. Yes, that was probably all it was. He started rubbing his hands on his body to help the paint off. He imagined they were Sherlock's hands and smiled softly. 

Sherlock put some clean sheets on the bed and then sat down. Tonight had been interesting. Unusual. And quite nice. He finished off the glass of wine sitting next to the bed. He grabbed something out of the drawer and walked to bathroom door, tapping it lightly. "Everything all right in there?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine," John said, startling a bit when he heard Sherlock. "Just a lot of paint to get off."

Sherlock pushed the door open. "Want me to double check that you've got it all?" he said, without stepping inside the room.

"I don't think there's any on my back..." John said, trying to look. 

"Still . . ." Sherlock said. He stepped inside the bathroom and moved towards the bath. He set his things next to sink and then stripped off his pajamas. He stepped into the shower with John. "I think I should," he said.

"Sherlock..." John said mostly out of surprise. It was hard to be embarrassed after what they had done. He took a step back, into the water so it was falling over his shoulder. "Did I?"

"Did you what?" Sherlock asked. He reached out and touched John's shoulder and slid it down his arm

"Get it all?" John said, gazing up at him. 

Sherlock moved his hand to John's hip and then lowered it, using one hand to hold John's cock as the other slid between his legs to cup his balls. "The paint was everywhere . . ." he said softly.

John turned up into Sherlock's neck. "I know...you have to be thorough," he breathed, kissing Sherlock there.

Sherlock started stroking John's cock. With his other hand, he grabbed John's, leading it to his own hardening cock. "Let's do it again," he mumbled.

"Yes," John said, leaning up to kiss him hard as his hand started moving steadily. 

Sherlock turned John, pressing him up against the tiled wall. He leaned into him, sucking softly on the back of his neck. "Spread your legs," he said, not sure how John would respond.

John huffed out a heavy, shaky breath and did as Sherlock asked, spreading his feet as wide as he could. 

Sherlock leaned out of the shower curtain and grabbed the bottle of lube, pouring some into his hand. He put his hand between John's legs, brushing over his hole. "Do you want to stay in here or get out of the water?" he asked. He pushed a slick finger inside John, nuzzling into his shoulder as he did. With Sherlock's height, most of the shower water hit his shoulder, but John's body was still damp and hot. He pressed himself against John's body as he began pumping his finger slowly.

"Oh...fuck..." John sighed softly, fingers curling against the shower wall. He arched his back a bit, pushing against Sherlock. 

Sherlock leaned in again, biting softly on John's shoulder. He slipped a second finger in and thrust a bit more. "Are you angry at me for snooping?" he asked near John's ear.

John moaned loudly and shook his head. "No...m'used to it..." he said breathlessly, smiling over his shoulder.

Sherlock kept opening John, biting and kissing his shoulder and upper back. Then he stepped back and reached out of the shower for a condom and, despite his slippery fingers, managed to get it on. He slicked everything again with more lube and then pressed up against John again. He slid one arm around John's waist and, after steadying himself, used the other hand to line himself up. He made a low moan as he pushed himself inside.

"Fucking hell," John moaned, shuddering lightly as he was filled, stretched open by Sherlock. "Sherlock...God..."

Sherlock groaned again as he moved all the way in, but quickly realised two key things: 1. he wasn't going to last long and 2. he wasn't going to be able to move. "Turn yourself a bit," he said. "I need you to bend over some . . . hurry."

John shifted and bent down a bit. "Do it fast..." He said. 

Sherlock moved with John, holding him tight. He moved his hands up and down John's back and then hooked around his hip and began thrusting against him, pulling John back towards him. The water was now hitting Sherlock's back as he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the pleasure.

"Fuck...so good...Sherlock..." He moaned loudly. He moved back with him, clutching uselessly at the wall. 

Sherlock reached around John's body and started to stroke his wet cock. "I'm not going to be able to much longer . . ." he mumbled, trying to match his hips' rhythm with his hand. "This is all so much . . ." He kept stroking firm and fast, wanting John to come first. He leaned over John's back and put his mouth to John's skin, kissing and biting lightly. "Come, John," he moaned as he did his best to hold on.

John kept pushing back against him, closing his eyes and letting go. He came against the tiles, in Sherlock's hand, moaning his name as the waves passed through him. 

Sherlock felt John tighten around him, pushing a few more times before coming and collapsing over John's back. "My legs," he exhaled, laughing a little. "You okay?"

John smiled as he panted to catch his breath. "Perfect," he said. 

"God," Sherlock said, pushing himself up. He got rid of the condom and then pulled John to him, turning them both and stepping under the water to rinse them off. The water wasn't as hot as it needed to be, so he turned off the shower and stepped out, grabbing a towel and handing one to John.

John wrapped himself up and turned to face Sherlock. "That was fun..." he said. "Will that be...I mean...will we do it again?"

"I think we probably should," Sherlock smiled, slipping his pajamas on and handing John his dressing gown. "We're pretty good at it -- seems a shame to not take advantage of that." He hung up the towels and then said, "Come on, we need to go back in my room. I'm freezing and my legs are shaking ridiculously."

John followed Sherlock to his room and climbed into the bed with his dressing gown. "So...we're different now, right?"

"You mean because we're not messy?" Sherlock asked, pulling the covers up to get warm.

"No. Because of what we're doing," John said, shifting to get comfortable.

"Well, I'm not bored anymore," Sherlock said. "But I have a feeling that's not what you're talking about." 

John shook his head, pulling the covers up more and taking Sherlock's hand in his own. 

"Oh my god," Sherlock said, smiling. "You're not going to propose, are you?"

John grinned. "No you idiot," he laughed. 

"All right then," Sherlock said. "I'm inviting you to spend the night here if you're happy not talking unnecessarily." He squeezed John's hand.

John laced their fingers. "Okay," he nodded. 

Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay in the darkness for a few moments, still holding John's hand. "Did you want me to find that magazine?" he asked quietly.

"No. I mean, I didn't leave it there purposefully for you." John closed his eyes. "I'm genuinely interested in it," he said. 

"So now you know what it's like -- well, kind of -- does that mean you're going to go out and find a proper artist to do it with?" Sherlock asked.

"No," John said. "I liked this...what we did."

"I bought a ridiculous amount of paint," Sherlock said. "There's no reason for it to go to waste…"

John buried his face into the bed as he chuckled. "We can't waste it, of course not."

"I think my art's better when I work from a picture," Sherlock said. "Be thinking of what you want me to try next." He made a little yawn and let his eyes close.

John smiled in the dark. "You never made your tower."

"Grow up, John Watson," Sherlock said.

John laughed properly. "No thanks."

"Good night, John," Sherlock whispered, curling himself around John a little to cuddle him.

John smiled softly. "Good night, Sherlock."


	5. It Seems Like Something Else Is Going On

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he was no longer cuddling John. He was facing away the other way, but could feel John behind him. He rolled over, softly touching John's face. "I'm getting up," he said and then sat up, before standing and stretching.

John shifted and blinked for a moment before leaving his eyes closed and yawning. "Few more minutes," he murmured.

"Lazy," Sherlock said. He went out to the kitchen to put the kettle on and even put a piece of toast under the grill for John. When it was all ready, he called, "Breakfast!" and sat down at the table.

John breathed in deeply but didn't smell anything. He pushed himself up, yawned again, and padded out to the kitchen. "What is it?"

"Toast," Sherlock said. "My specialty." He smiled over at John, who looked quite handsome this morning. 

John smiled and brought the tea and toast to the table. He kissed Sherlock's temple as he passed him.

Sherlock reached out and touched John's wrist as he passed. "So today are you going to seriously help me find a case or what?" he asked, smiling as he took a sip of tea.

John nodded. "Of course I will," he said. 

There was a knock at the door and then it opened. Mrs Hudson came through. "I brought your post up," she said, coming into the kitchen and handing the envelopes to Sherlock. "Tea?" she asked.

"Help yourself," Sherlock said, flicking through the mail. John sat across from Sherlock with the toast Sherlock had made and his tea.

Mrs Hudson poured herself a cup of tea and sat down. "So have you got plans for the day?" she asked anyone who would answer.

"Obviously," Sherlock said, glancing over at John. "We're very busy men, Mrs Hudson." He smiled. John smiled and focused on his breakfast, nodding his agreement. 

Mrs Hudson looked at John and then at Sherlock and then back at John. "Why are you two smiling so stupidly?" she asked.

"We're looking for cases," John said.

"It seems like something else is going on," Mrs Hudson said.

"So suspicious," Sherlock muttered.

"Well, I've had to be ever since meeting you," Mrs Hudson scolded.

"Hurtful," Sherlock said and took a sip of tea.

"John, on the other hand," she said, turning to look at him. "John's always been trustworthy and honest. Is something going on?" she asked, eyeing him closely.

John gazed at her for moment before smiling innocently again. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said. 

Mrs Hudson waved her hand dramatically. "God, he's turned you untrustworthy as well!" She turned back to Sherlock. "Why did you have to ruin John?"

Sherlock didn't look up. "I can assure you, John's ruin had nothing to do with me." He couldn't help remembering the shower though. He smiled.

She looked at him and then back at John. "John," she said. "You've got something on your ear . . . it looks like . . . paint. Have you been painting?"

John grinned wider. "Sherlock has," he said.

Sherlock made a little laugh. Mrs Hudson looked quickly at him and then back to John. "I don't understand what's going on at all," she said.

"No one does, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. "But that does not stop anything from happening." He set down his mug and pushed the envelopes away. "Now, perhaps you should leave us be -- John and I have some work to do."

She looked at both of them again and then stood up. "I've not figured it out yet," she called as she headed out. "But I will."

"I'm sure you will," Sherlock called back. He looked over at John. "You all right with all that?" he asked.

John was laughing softly. "Of course I am. I'm happy."

"Good," Sherlock said, pushing his chair back and getting up. "I'm going to go check my email. You go take a shower and get yourself properly clean -- no mucking about in there like you forced me into last night." He smiled and made his way over to his desk.

"Forced you! If that was forcing you I'd love to see you eager," John laughed as he walked towards the bathroom.

"You will, John Watson, you will," Sherlock called as John went in for his shower. He smiled to himself and opened his laptop to find them both a real case.


End file.
